The great wooden doors of Adelpha’s royal chamber stood firm, crafted from ancient oak that had witnessed the rule of countless kings before Alden. The room beyond was dimly lit, lined with towering bookshelves and tapestries woven with the golden crest of the stag. Unlike the cold, imposing structures of Aether, Adelpha’s palace bore the weight of history—not with sterile perfection, but with the quiet wisdom of a nation that had endured.

And yet, for all its warmth, the room felt colder than it had ever been.

King Alden sat behind a long, polished table of dark mahogany. The decree lay before him, its ink still fresh, its words as sharp as any blade.

Aether had spoken. And their voice left no room for defiance.

He read the lines again, slowly this time. Aethan chips to be embedded in every immigrant. Restrictions on magic. The Honorary Aethan Initiative expanded, but with no real power granted to those forced to take the title.

He exhaled, setting the parchment down with deliberate care.

Behind him, a cold wind whispered through the open balcony, carrying with it the scent of the Ebon River. A storm was coming. And Alden was not sure if his kingdom could weather it.

A sharp knock echoed through the chamber.

“Enter,” Alden commanded.

The doors opened, and two men stepped inside.

Lord Evander Callis moved first—his long silver hair tied back in a low knot, the deep lines of his face speaking of years spent both on the battlefield and in the council chamber. A strategist. A scholar of war. A man who had seen empires rise and crumble. His long, embroidered robe, though elegant, did little to soften the sharpness in his gaze.

Behind him, moving with a soldier’s discipline, was Prime Minister Haldrek Varrow. His uniform bore the insignia of Adelpha’s royal army, its golden accents catching the candlelight as he strode forward. Where Evander was calculated, Haldrek was decisive. He had no patience for games, least of all the ones Aether played.

They bowed their heads in greeting, but there was no ceremony between them. The moment they sat, Haldrek spoke first.

“This decree is a violation.” His voice was deep, steady. “Aether has removed all doubt. They do not see the Millinggardans as people.”

Alden remained silent. He waited.

Evander exhaled, fingers steepled together. “We expected restructuring. New laws. But this…” He tapped the parchment before them. “This is not governance. This is conquest wearing the mask of legislation.”

The King leaned back in his chair. “Aether has never masked its intent.”

“Perhaps,” Evander conceded, “but this is different.” His silver eyes flicked to Alden’s. “This is permanent.”

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Alden’s fingers drummed lightly against the wood of the table.

There was no disputing the truth.

Aether’s laws had always been designed to subdue, control, assimilate. But these new mandates crossed a line that could not be ignored.

“The Aethan Chips,” Alden murmured, more to himself than the others. “Branding them like cattle. Stripping them of their last shred of dignity.”

Haldrek nodded sharply. “And if they refuse?”

Evander’s gaze darkened. “Then they are removed.”

A heavy silence fell between them.

Haldrek’s fingers curled into a fist. “And what is Adelpha’s answer?”

The King inhaled deeply. Measured. Controlled.

“We will not endorse it,” Alden said finally. “We will not acknowledge this as law.”

Haldrek exhaled, a dry scoff escaping him. “That will not stop them.”

“No,” Alden admitted. “It won’t.”

Evander studied him. “Then what do you propose?”

Alden turned his gaze to the parchment once more.

Aether’s power was absolute. A single kingdom’s defiance meant nothing to them. But indifference? That was a different kind of war.

He set his jaw. “We will not fight them. But we will deny them.”

Evander’s brow lifted slightly. “A passive resistance.”

“No,” Alden corrected. “A silent refusal.”

Haldrek frowned. “You expect that to be enough?”

Alden’s gaze remained steady.

“Aether thrives on compliance,” he said. “They build their empire on obedience. They erase history, rewrite it in their own words, and leave no room for opposition.” He exhaled. “They expect us to yield. They expect us to adjust.”

Haldrek’s fists tightened. “And when we don’t?”

Alden’s eyes were sharp, unyielding.

“Then we force them to decide,” he said. “Will they turn their gaze to us? Will they risk a conflict they do not need? Will they waste their resources on a kingdom that refuses to kneel, but does not rise to strike them either?”

Evander hummed, rubbing his chin. “An interesting strategy.”

Haldrek leaned forward, shaking his head. “This is a dangerous game, Alden.”

The King did not waver.

“This is the only game we can play.”

The words hung in the air.

Evander, after a long moment, gave a slow nod.

Haldrek sighed, running a hand through his beard. He hated it. But he understood it.

Alden stood.

He moved toward the open balcony, looking out over his kingdom. The rolling hills of Adelpha stretched before him, bathed in the warm hues of the setting sun.

This land had stood for generations.

It had outlived wars, betrayals, and the rise and fall of empires.

And it would not bow to Aether.

Not today. Not ever.

“Send word to the Council,” he ordered. “Adelpha will make its stance known.”

His voice was calm. But in it, there was steel.

And Aether would feel it soon enough.